Ares's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Ares stood in the shadows of the stone colonnade, watching the corridor that led to their meeting place. He had come early, as he always did—not from caution, but because waiting for Aphrodite sharpened the edge of his need. The air smelled of jasmine and torch smoke. Then he saw it: a single white feather on the marble floor, too pristine to have fallen by accident. Someone had been here. Someone had watched. He picked up the feather and crushed it in his fist. The arena had been theirs alone—high above Olympia on its floating island of marble and gold, hidden by clouds and distance. No one came here. No one should have known. But the feather's placement was deliberate, left where he would find it. A warning. A threat. His jaw tightened as rage built in his chest like gathering thunder. Ares turned and looked up at the tower rising through the mist beyond the arena's edge. Hera's tower. The circular levels gleamed in the fading light, each balcony a perfect vantage point. From there, someone could see everything—every meeting, every stolen moment, every time Aphrodite had turned to him instead of her husband. His hand went to his spear. If Hera had been watching, she would use this knowledge like a blade. He left the arena without waiting for Aphrodite. The feather in his hand was proof enough. Hera would go to Hephaestus—she always protected her son. And when his brother learned the truth, there would be no more secret meetings, no more stolen hours. Ares would have to fight for Aphrodite in the open now, where every god could see. The thought didn't frighten him. It lit something fierce and determined in his blood. Let them all watch.